


Eloquent Action

by Verlaine



Category: Coriolanus (2011), The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verlaine/pseuds/Verlaine
Summary: “These are the ushers of Martius: before himHe carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears.Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie,Which being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.”― William Shakespeare, Coriolanus





	Eloquent Action

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the bingo April round for the the prompt "forced body modification".

The line of soldiers edging their way toward the tattooists' booth must have been close to a hundred men long. It had started spontaneously at morning mess call, a table full of young Volcsii suddenly jumping up, yelling at the grunts sitting beside them. Lee hadn't paid enough attention at first to get what set them off, but by the time they were all screaming in each others' faces about proving who was a real man and a real patriot, he was already easing his way out of the mess tent, Barney right on his heels.

They were both too old to get involved in a cock-measuring contest. The kids could sort out their testosterone issues just fine on their own.

And then someone got the tattoo idea, and it spread through the camp like wildfire. The line grew, at first slowly, then more and more quickly. It was like watching an anthill organizing.

At some point, Barney ambled in the same direction, throwing Lee a look somewhere between "Come with?" and "Get your ass in gear, Christmas."

Lee baulked for a moment: it was okay for Barney, who wrote his commitments on his skin the way other guys put on a shirt. But Lee had always been wary of something as permanent as a tattoo. He'd seen too many guys having to explain to woman C why they still had woman B's name on their arm, complete with hearts and roses. Too many guys who woke up after a weekend bender with no idea whose name that even _was_ on their arm.

On the other hand, he and Barney were pretty well doing the definition of commitment and permanence these days. He could put up with a little ink if Barney thought it was worth the aggro. With a curt nod, he followed Barney to the end of the line.

The Volcsan camp had had a hectic air for weeks, ever since that night Caius Martius Coriolanus had showed up, and convinced Aufidius to take him in. (Nobody was quite sure _why_ the two sworn enemies had struck the agreement; the _how_ was obvious in the beard burn and bite marks all over both of them the next morning.) Coriolanus had gone from the first man in Rome to outcast to rebel commander faster than ink healed on skin.

Within days, the tide of war had turned. Aufidius had been holding his own against the Romans, but with Coriolanus at his side, the Volcsii started to do some serious winning. Lee wasn't a natural optimist, but it wasn't a stretch to think Rome itself might be in trouble soon, if Coriolanus and Aufidius could keep working their magic.

The arrival of Coriolanus had split the team. Caesar—well, there was no way he'd be anywhere but Rome anyway. Gunnar was originally from Corioles; nothing would make the big man stay under the command of the general who'd razed the city to the ground. And Toll—Toll hadn't said anything, but he'd watched the two commanders with a steadily deepening look of unease on his face. 

When Barney asked him what was wrong, Toll looked around and lowered his voice. "The technical term for it is, they're fucking nuts."

It wasn't a surprise the two of them had packed their kits and headed out. Lee only hoped they hadn't made the mistake of joining up with the Romans. He really didn't want to see any of his former teammates on the other end of a rifle scope. The thought of Caesar was bad enough.

As the line got longer, the noise got louder and louder. A couple of kids who'd been close to the front came by, yapping at the tops of their lungs and showing off their fresh tats to the waiting soldiers. The sight of that black winged skull made something cold knot in Lee's stomach. 

The shouts of "Prove it! Prove it! Prove it!" along the line got louder.

"This is getting out of hand," he murmured to Barney, leaning in to make sure his voice didn't carry.

Barney shrugged. "Kids get excited," he said. "Once they've all got marked, they'll chill out." He cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't you ever fall in love with a commanding officer?"

"Yeah, once," Lee said dryly. "And look where that got me."

At that Barney turned to really look at him. "You don't have to. Fall out, if you want. Doesn't make any difference to me: I'm carrying enough ink for the both of us."

For a second, Lee was tempted, but a quick look around told him it would be a mistake. It now looked like half the camp was in line, with more streaming out of the tents every minute. It wouldn't take much to turn this level of half-hysterical enthusiasm into a riot. 

The thing was, at one level, Lee got it. Coriolanus wasn't just a soldier, he was a _warrior_ ; a warrior's warrior, the kind of man who could do more than plan a campaign from the rear echelon. He fought alongside his men. Hell, he was usually out in front of them. He had the instinct for what made a fighter's life: being scared enough to piss yourself when the mortars got their range; holding your teammate's bloody guts while he died; that visceral satisfaction in a clean kill. Those instincts obviously hadn't carried over to civilian life, but put Coriolanus in with any group of fighting men and they understood. _This_ was the one man in a legion who was worth fighting for, worth fighting with.

They idolized him, they'd die for him, they'd storm Rome itself for him without any count of the cost.

So, yeah, Lee got it, even though he'd seen too much to ever fall for any of that _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_ shit again. But getting it didn't mean he wanted to have the man's insignia plastered on his body. Barney was worth dying for. Everything else could go to hell.

Over the past weeks he'd occasionally wondered how Aufidius felt about all of it. Because good as the Volscan general was—and he was damn good—Coriolanus was just that little bit better. Always had been, and now there was no hiding it. How badly was it gnawing at Aufidius to know his defeats hadn't just been flukes? That his men might even turn on him if Coriolanus gave the word? Or was he willing to let all of it go as long as he got Rome in the end?

The uproar was suddenly challenged by the sound of a bellowing engine. From the edge of camp an armored truck roared across the open ground, following the trailing line of men. Coriolanus and Aufidius stood in the rear, both of them in plain battle dress. Coriolanus had stripped off his jacket in the harsh summer heat, and the inspiration for all the craziness going on around them was clearly visible. The heavy black wings riding up onto his shoulders from the skull in the middle of his back looked almost life-like. But there was about them no sense of uplift, of the freedom of flight. Those were a vulture's wings, spread over a field of bones. 

As the truck passed them, Coriolanus turned to wave at the cheering soldiers, and Lee caught a glimpse of Aufidius' face. Every line of his expression was a tangle of lust and rage and envy with a core of murder behind it. Then Coriolanus swung back to him with a laugh, his arm dropping over Aufidius' shoulders, and his expression shifted into something entirely different.

Lee had seen that look on Barney's face once or twice, and was pretty sure Barney had seen it on him. The look that said at least some of the reason you were so hot for the guy you were fucking was because there was always the possibility he'd slip a blade across your throat while you were balls-deep in him. 

Yeah, that look.

"Gods, what a clusterfuck," Lee muttered.

"Lee, you don't have to," Barney repeated, with a little more iron behind it.

Lee knew Barney was right: all this tattoo shit was kids blowing off steam, worked up today and forgotten tomorrow. 

But he was also wrong. The way Aufidius and Coriolanus looked at each other—

"We're sticking together," he said harshly. "When this all goes tits-up—and it will, you wait—they'll be looking for scapegoats. That might just end up being anybody who isn't wearing the right ink."

"Which could be a good reason for one of us to stay clean."

Lee shook his head. "Wither thou goest, Caius, there go I," he quoted.

"Next! Hey, merc, you're holding up the line!"

They'd been so focused on each other that Lee hadn't realized they'd reached the tattooist's table. Barney casually shouldered Lee in front of him, subtly enough that nobody watching would have seen it as anything other than friendly nudge. As Lee sat down, Barney moved up behind him, his weight solid and warm and sane as he leaned over Lee's shoulder. 

"You keeping those needles clean?" he demanded. 

The tattooist barely gave him a bored glance. "Don't try teachin' me my job, man."

Barney didn't move, and Lee shifted his stance a little as he held out his arm. The pressure on his shoulder and along his side anchored him, kept him from pulling back as the needle came down on his skin.

It shouldn't hurt this fucking much. Lee had been shot, stabbed, beaten up, strained practically every muscle in his body in one fight or another. All of those things hurt, and there were logical reasons why. This _scratching_ at his skin should barely have been noticeable among all the scarring, yet it felt like fire and acid eating at his arm. He could force himself not to shiver and twitch; he had that much self-control at least. But he couldn't fight off the feeling of wrongness, and that made his head a little crazy.

Lee bore down and concentrated on nothing but the calm warm weight leaning over his shoulder until finally, fucking finally it was done. 

Much as he wanted to get away, Lee didn't move on when Barney sat down. He copied the older man's stance, letting Barney settle back against him. Watching the dark wings take form on his lover's arm was in a way even worse than seeing them on himself. 

No matter how good a soldier Coriolanus was, he carried a death-mark, and it was spreading to everyone under his command. 

**

Three weeks later, looking at the butchered remains of Caius Martius Coriolanus hanging from the scaffold where Aufidius and his lieutenants had left him, Lee felt a bitter sense of vindication. There were a lot of soldiers, of all ranks, wandering around the camp with demoralized looks and conspicuously long sleeves, hiding those damn tats.

Lee wondered if Aufidius realized he was finished. Half his army no longer trusted the other half. Even worse, probably more than half his soldiers no longer trusted _him_. He'd misjudged Coriolanus, and misjudged his men, and done both right out in front of them. They might forgive him for thinking with his dick, but they wouldn't depend on him not to do it again.

If Coriolanus had done it all deliberately to undermine Aufidius and the Volscan cause he couldn't have done a better job.

"What's your bet?" he asked Barney. "Mutiny or a purge?"

"Probably both." Barney pointed to the outskirts of the camp, where another set of scaffolds was going up. "We shoulda gone with Gunnar and Toll," he said grimly. Now that it was too fucking late.

"Got that right." Lee had already packed and stashed their kits.

Five clicks down the road, they stopped on the crest of a hill and looked back down at the camp. Muffled by distance, they could hear a faint rattle of gunfire. A tent suddenly erupted in flames.

The Volscan army was disintegrating.

**

That night they made a small campfire, hidden under a big cedar tree well off the road. After about half a bottle of raw country wine, Lee pulled one of his knives, and held the blade into the fire until the tip turned cherry red.

"Might as well get started," he said, and rolled up his sleeve.


End file.
